


Start of Time

by manspirations



Series: Long Live Stackson! [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Episode: s03e11 Alpha Pact, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 03:42:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1764395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manspirations/pseuds/manspirations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles loses it in the locker room. Guess who finds him?<br/>EDITED: December 2, 2014</p>
            </blockquote>





	Start of Time

**Author's Note:**

> Teen Wolf doesn't belong to me.

       They’re all going to die. Him. Scott. Lydia. Derek. Allison. His DAD. Miss McCall. Hell even, Allison’s dad, who he barely even likes. Oh god. This couldn't be happening. Stiles tumbles cranium first into the first empty room to escape the watchful eyes of his classmates. It puts him alone in the dark locker room. Of course, he scoffs though the crushing of his lungs. Why does anything related to the supernatural happen in the locker room?

        Amused, Stiles shakes his head, instantly regretting flipping on the maximum spin cycle. Then, his breathing clogs in his throat. He scrapes away the sneaky stream of moisture pulling from his eyes with the back of his hand. Maybe, this is how his dad felt. Hidden somewhere scraping the last of his breath because that bitch tied a garotte around his neck. Just thinking about it buckles his knees to the floor. He slides down the wall of a metal locker, too gone to think of the manly goop on the floor.

        No. His parents taught him differently. Stiles breathes the techniques his mom taught him. In. Out. In. Out. Tap the beat of a soft song with your thumb. Shaking, he moves his thumb to the rhythm of a Parachute song in his head. Nothing. If anything, She is Love adds the desolate state of his love life to the pile. The image of his dad struggling floats in his brain, along with Scott, the Alphas, Derek's psycho girlfriend, and vaguely Lydia.

        His ears barely picks up sound from somewhere in the room. The creaking of a door barely audible over a dull hum. It's just his luck that they come stomping his way. The only thing worse than a panic attack is having one in front of people. As their steps grow closer, Stiles scrambles for control faster, wide-eyed and sweating small lakes. His vision blurs but he knows those profiles when he sees them. Danny and Jackson halt their casual stroll when they spot him, pathetically hunched over. Stiles imagines the disgusted expressions painted on their faces. They both know about werewolves since Jackson is one now. He has been for a while. Unlike the rest of their crew, Jackson got what he wanted and stayed the fuck away from the supernatural drama. Stiles doesn’t blame him. At the sight of him, Jackson and Danny shoot panic looks to one another. His hearing is getting better since the breathing techniques are working slowly…very slowly.

       “We can’t just leave him like this, Jackson.” Danny gestures to his body as if Stiles isn't in the room with him. His calm voice touches Stiles like a soft fleece blanket. It's something he can latch onto-until Jackson opens his mouth. 

      “Fuck that. No.” Jackson bites, scowling down at him and Stiles does his best to return the favor. He wishes he could punch the guy again. This time, he'd go for that nose. He'd really do the world a favor. No one needs to witness something that perfect. Wait...what?! He blames his lessened state. 

       “Don’t be an ass.” Score two for Danny. “I’m going to go find Lydia. You deal with... that.” Danny retreats, heading for the door before Stiles can try for a thank you. 

       “Why can’t I go get Lydia?! This is bullshit.” Jackson shouts after him, a slight growl to his voice. Stiles bets that if he peers up at his eyes, they’d ring a florescent blue.

      “Maybe if you didn’t dump her with a postcard. But, you did!” Danny yells back before the door closes, leaving him and Jackson alone. “DO SOMETHING!” Danny's voice bounces off the metal lockers and high windows.

       Stiles watches Jackson with a suspicious eye. As much as he hates to admit it, he’s weak right now. If Jackson wanted to, he could slice his throat open easily. That realization doesn’t help his already colossal pile of shitty problems to work through.

       “Can you just stop that?” Jackson sneers at him. With his finger, he points to Stiles’s heavy chest. He’s flabbergasted. He can’t just _stop_ thinking about everything.

      “Asshole.” He chokes on the word but the expression pacifies his anger. “Just…go away.”

       “I’m not leaving you to die on this fucking floor, Stilinski.” Jackson’s frustrated, pacing in front of him. “How do these things work? Aren’t you supposed to count to ten or something?” Stiles glares at him, not even deeming that comment worthy. “Don’t look at me like I’m the problem. You’re the problem!” He scoffs. “I don’t have to deal with this shit right now.”

       “THEN GO!!!!!!!” Honestly, Stiles regrets the roar that spills from his mouth. He’s not actually angry with Jackson; they’ve known how to handle his bitchiness since the third grade. Nevertheless, his presence is a metaphor for all the miserable fuck up crap they deal with on a daily basis. He’s cracking. Under the sound of his voice, Jackson flinches. Stiles thinks that’s it. Jackson will leave him to panic by his lonesome. Only he doesn’t leave. He strides closer and closer and closer. Until, he’s knelt right in front of Stiles. Against his better judgment, Stiles budges not an inch. 

       “Look.” His voice is calmer now; and, it’s soothing. That alone scares the hell out of him. “Just let me help, Stiles. What do I have to do?” Jackson Whittemore said his first name for the first time in…forever.

       “Nothing… you can… do.”

       “Bullshit.” He mumbles, contemplating the solution harder while Stiles works on his breathing once more. He knows the moment when the answer falls into Jackson's brain. With the conflicted grimace on his face, Stiles realizes he won’t approve of whatever wacky resolution Jackson’s conjured up. “I’m gonna try something ok?”

       Before Stiles can get a word in, Jackson leans further into his space. He’s watching Stiles’s mouth curiously and that can only mean one thing. He’s going to use the stupid advice of their idiotic health teacher. In the tenth grade, they spent a week on panic attacks. While most of the information was factual, Stiles didn’t believe a kiss would return his breathing.

      At this point, he’s willing to try anything. The more time, he sits pathetically on this floor, the less time he has to rescue his dad. At least, that’s how he justifies leaning closer to Jackson. 

      He waits for what feels like an eternity for Jackson to kiss him. It’s awkward because he’s still panting. The small breaths float between them but Jackson doesn’t back away in disgust. He shifts forward until their lips are an inch away from his. Stiles is surprised at how well Jackson’s handling this whole thing. He watches mesmerized as Jackson’s tongue glides lightly along his bottom lip. Whereas the anticipation for when Heather kissed him was rushed and frantic, this was slow, unhurried. It’s enough to steady his breathing. He latches onto the unhurried beating of Jackson’s breathing, letting it wash over him. After a moment or two, his breathing returns to normal. The second Jackson hears the steady thumping of his heart the spell is broken. He clears his throat roughly, pushing away from Stiles entirely. Stiles isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do here. He was literally a second away from kissing the guy and now he’s casually sliding back on his book bag.

       “And, you said there was nothing I could do.” It’s an olive branch no matter how smug his expression is. More than anything, Stiles knows his answers lies hidden within Jackson’s eyes. They’re desperately trying to focus on anything but his mouth. He wasn’t the only one affected by what could have been. Stiles opens his mouth to say anything helpful. Like, ‘thanks for potentially saving my life.’ Maybe, ‘wanna try that for real sometime?’ He’s not able to say anything because Jackson’s cutting him off. “See ya Stilinski.” He swaggers towards the door. He peels himself from the floor with haste. They’re not pretending this didn’t happen. It did and Stiles really wants it to happen again.

       “Wait.” He reaches Jackson just as he rounds the corner. He pivots to stare at him with an arched eyebrow. The look screams, ‘did you need something, _Stilinski?_ ’ In his head, this made so much sense. He’d run toward Jackson, just like the movies. Then, Stiles would reach out, spin him around roughly, and plant one on him. Life isn’t a romantic comedy, though. “I-thanks.” He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “Can I…? I just want…Can we..?”

      “Stop.” Jackson groans dramatically. He closes the distance between them in one stride. This time there’s no linger. Jackson cradles his neck as he slots their lips together. He kisses him back immediately, not wanting to waste a second of this. The kiss is just as he imagined a Stiles and Jackson kiss would be. It’s aggressive just like their interactions all these years. But, at the same time, there are moments of passion. He’d bite down on Jackson’s bottom lip only to soothe the burn with a tentative swipe. He clutches onto Jackson’s lower back, loving the way his muscles flex under his skin. Never did Stiles think he’d enjoy making out with Jackson so much.

♫ _There’s a ghost upon the moor tonight._

_Now its in our house._

_When you walked into the room just then,_

_its like the sun came out…_ ♫

        Relaxing music fills the space around him. At first, Stiles is struck by how great the song goes with this moment. It really is like his own very romantic comedy starring the jock and the weirdo. Then he remembers that music isn’t supposed to be playing. He jerks away from Jackson, separating their lips with a wet smack. He winces at the sound. Knowing that if he looks at Jackson’s red bruised lips he’d be a goner, he shifted around to find the source of the music. Lydia and Danny stood off to the side with impressive-sized grins plastered onto their faces. His attention drifted into the phone in Lydia’s palm, playing the song that was the soundtrack for their make out session.

        “We just thought we’d help set the mood.” Lydia tells them, shrugging her shoulders apologetically.

        “Shut up.” Jackson growls, stepping the last few paces out of Stiles personal space. Danny chuckles at him, though there’s a surprise glint in his eyes. If Scott was here, he’d wear the same exact expression. Oh shit Scott! Right, imminent danger. Jackson and his unfairly soft lips distracted him.

        “You know Jackson, if you’re having a sexuality crisis you should set up an appointment with the guidance counselor." Lydia tells him. The term ‘guidance counselor’ rings several alarm bells inside of his brain. A plan starts formulating into his brain.

       “Holy hell.” He yells frantically. “Lydia we need to go like now!” He wastes no time grabbing onto her wrist and pulling. Everyone watches him with their usual ‘he’s-a-freak’ stare’ but who cares? He may have found a way to save his dad and help Scott. “I’ll umm…talk to you later?” He can’t leave without talking to Jackson. They all turn to wait for his response. He’s the most surprised when Jackson nods succinctly.

       “Get my number from Lydia.” He doesn’t grumble or growl. Stiles grins proudly. No one’s sure what’s going on right now but, he’s sure it’s something good.

       “Cool. See ya!” At the last second, he adds. “Bye Danny!” He doesn’t allow them to linger any longer. They have lives to save and the first place he’s looking for clues in the druid bitch's office. He will think about Jackson only when their parents are safe, the alpha pack is dead, and the darach is back in hell. Until then, he has to stay focused. Stiles to the rescue, again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I literally just wrote this while stranded in a NY airport so there might be mistakes.


End file.
